Art: Hardbroom and Lamplighter
by saphique
Summary: Discussion about art between Constance Hardbroom and Lynne Lamplighter. FEMSLASH. First time writing in english.


- What do you choose, Miss. Hardbroom?

With the young artist at her side, with the colors of her outfit that shine and reflect, it is quite difficult for Constance to concentrate and make her choice. How was it possible to choose a form of expression in an artistic discipline that does not attract her at the beginning?

-What do you want to create, to share?

Share? The Head Deputy is accustomed to never share. An essential book, a generous word, a benevolent caress, Constance abstains from sharing, therefore nothing would be stolen from her

- All of this is too abstract. What am I supposed to seek?

She must make an effort; there must be a reason for that young, desirable woman to be covered in vivid colors, for her long fingers to be covered with green, red and blue. There must be a reason for her classroom to be full of canvas, of books of references, of paintings, of brushes… There must be a major reason, a suitable one. What is Constance supposed to understand and appreciate in art?

- Art is not so far away from science, Miss Hardbroom.

As if Lynne wished to show towards Constance a form of empathy, she kneels to the level of the potion teacher. That way, their faces are able to connect but Constance avoids the enthusiastic glance of Lynne which seems to be admiring the witch. In a spontaneous way, Lynne always succeeded in giving Constance affectionate feelings.

-I do not doubt it; nevertheless the utility between art and science is strongly different.

-You are supposed to recognize yourself through your art; you must transmit a message…

Lightheaded, Constance's rational thoughts are damaged by the floral perfume that seems to emanate from the untamed hair of her colleague. She puts a cold hand against her forehead. It is impossible for her to concentrate, because Lynne is multicolored explosions and has sweet-flavored breath… Miss Hardbroom feels a rise of courage and dares to turn her head in order to look at her colleague. Lynne Lamplighter remains knelt and passionate by this conversation about art. The bright lights of the class create delicious shades on the features of her soft face.

- Would you recognize yourself into watercolor, into clay, into mosaic? Better yet, in what form of art you think you'll find yourself?

On this, Miss. Lamplighter rises to her feet and starts to gesticulate while she explains what are the contemporary practices of art: LandArt, All-Over, Dripping, ReadyMade, etc. A tension is formed in the center of Constance's throat since these terms do not affect her at all, since she does not feel any inspiration towards these frivolities, since she can not stop herself from admiring the slender body and the skilful fingers of Lynne. What does the artist looks like when she is alone in front of a painting, how does she handle her pencils, how moves her body when the inspiration overworks her?

-Frankly, I have no idea. I like realism, for its utility and its function, of course, but especially because it prevents from creating utopias and, in my opinion, it is the esthetics that distracts less.

As if her justifications were not important, Lynne agitates her hand in order to stop Constance's words, as if they were cursed and had to be censured. There is a long silence. Lynne stares at the ground and seems to think about what she just heard. She bites her lower lip, which influences Constance to look away, ashamed. Upright in front of the desk where Constance is sitting, Lynne approaches slowly and leans her silhouette towards the piece of furniture. The cherry-like breath returns, caressing Constance's cheeks. Her breathing is automatically stopped, irregular since the young woman is high and imposing in front of her lower position. When Constance realized that her pink shirt is somewhat half-opened, she hides a hick-up of embarrassment

-Why would you like to push back imagination, fantasy, impulses? Use your spirit, but also use your body and its desires! Listen to your person, it murmurs you favors that are waiting to be fulfilled and admired.

It's Constance's turn to bite her lip and she gazes out trough the window. The words of Lynne become fuzzy and distant whereas her own tears accumulate. This is not worth it, nothing will correspond to who she is, and no request from her body deserves to be realized. The romanticism cannot accommodate her organized and productive side; surrealism is too close to her witch's nature; impressionism is too distant from her reality: art can do nothing for .

A second long silence creates an immaterial incise that separates the two women. The attractive eccentricity of Lynne Lamplighter is too pure and too refreshing for the uprightness and for the simplicity of Constance Hardbroom. Constance is still staring out of the window. Unknown weakness maintains her under the cordial eyes of Lynne. At any seconds, Constance feels like she would melt into tears.

- Do what you believe is better for you, but the important is not to lie to yourself. Go, take some brushes or some pencils and we will see what will occur.

Lynne tightens up and lends her these tools, but Constance does not rise. Her head is turned over towards Lynne and looks intently at her with an almost dangerous intensity. Astonished, the young artist remains still, the arm extended towards the trembling body of Hardbroom. At this precise time, their entire differences arise obvious and true.

- Have I said something hurtful?

This question resounds in her whole body, lapidating her heart. Constance carries a hand to her chest, flying over the wounded body, whose heart beat accelerates. As if her hand on her heart could soften the pain.

- I've tried strongly, I collected all my energy and I've struggled to understand what can animate your kind. My education taught me how art was reserved for the weak, fragile and pathetic. It is impossible for me to go there; my mind is holding me back. I cannot understand you, and if ever I reach that point, I will feel like an impostor.

On these words, Lynne takes her initial position, squatted in front of . A wind of protection and comprehension strokes her long black silhouette.

-You cannot be an impostor if what you feel is true. Do not hide anything.

Lynne delicately takes the frozen hands of her colleague and dives in her eyes, the glance being powerful. The accumulation of Constance's tears is noticed. Motionless, Constance accepts the index of Lynne that draws the contour of her face, from her soft temple to her strong jaw.

- I would like to draw you by heart, to be able to put down against a material all the sensations and the perceptions that you make me feel. But you are so distant from me, of who I am, of what I am able to accomplish…

-You are not out of this world, Constance… You are a marvelous creature.

Humiliated, inclines her face towards the ground, wishing to push back such words that she thinks are false. But Lynne, who is still caressing her profile, raises her chin up by her index and tenderly places her lips against hers. Nervous, the mouth of Constance accepts the kiss that is now drowned by her own tears. The lips of Lynne are so delicious and comforting. 's cheeks are colored of pink and white, while her chin comprises red and orange. The caressing hands are coloring Constance, adding shades to the black of her person. The moisture of painting and the delicate fingers are reassuring her. As their kiss intensifies, more colors are added on the uneven bodies. Their dance leads them to the desk where Constance takes support on plates of painting and adds purple, indigo and grays in the soft hair of Lynne, painting her as if she was a masterpiece. The witch feels alive, as if she was burned by the visual and physical stimulations she was experiencing. From her hands, she applies slow spirals, squares, stripes caresses against Lynne Lamplighter who strongly holds on against her lover. Between their kisses and their catch for breath, they moan and dance against the hot and cold colors, the dense and the pastel, the landscapes and the portraits that are being created. The romanticism and surrealism collide and generate the realism that is the nature of Constance Hardbroom.


End file.
